


Mi Tesoro

by TheAngelFacedDemon (Melody_Of_The_River)



Category: DAKAICHI (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Junta Azumaya, Bottom Takato Saijo, Dirty Talk, Diverse Sexual Roles, Fluff, M/M, Praise Kink, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-11-16 05:49:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18088625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melody_Of_The_River/pseuds/TheAngelFacedDemon
Summary: An ongoing collection of Chuntaka drabbles from my tumblr; will range from fluff and smut to some (not so unbearable) angst. Enjoy!





	1. Another Night

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr for more Chuntaka content at [TheAngelFacedDemon](https://theangelfaceddemon.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you enjoy these stories, please leave a kudos and/or comment; they are much appreciated. If you want to request a fic/drabble for these two, I'm all ears. You can leave the request on my tumblr or on the comments section. Happy Reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Takato is a bit conscious about his age and overthinking their relationship again, and Junta finds a way to distract him.

Another night of breathless, sweaty sex found Takato tucked under Junta’s arm, face pressed into his armpit, breathing him in softly, as the man snored gently above him. It had started tonight, like it always starts when Junta is involved - innocent, light kisses turning needy by every minute spent in Takato’s presence, until the hands that a minute ago had been harmlessly pushing away Takato’s jacket, began insistently pulling at his hips, lips and teeth marking pink, purplish bruises across his collarbone, and hands claiming the swell of his ass, as  _‘Mine’_. 

Takato was tired, he really was. The day had been taxing enough as it is, and now his body felt equally exhausted. Junta wanted so much from him that Takato’s body simply couldn’t give – couldn’t keep up. He was getting old, plain and simple. It was becoming harder and harder to deny it by the day, when it seemed like every morning that he looked into the mirror, the skin of his cheekbones was becoming less and less taut, the bags under his eyes more pronounced, his face wearing the markings of time and age like a reluctant performer unwilling to don the attire of his role.

But Junta, he was young. Too young to be with Takato, anyway. Too young to be having sex with him, too young to be in love with him. They had a good eight years between them, and to Takato, that was not a thing to be taken lightly. Junta… he should be looking for others – men, women, neither, both – anyone, his own age. Not him, not some aging veteran who was already passing into ‘yesterday’s news’.

But God, did it feel good to be with him. When he kissed the sagging skin beneath his eyes, the flap of fat on his cheeks, under his arms, on his belly, on the backside of his thighs, with the reverence and adoration only reserved for the most gorgeous of deities – time was lost to them. And age dissolved, until they were no more than lovers twisted around each other’s bodies in a language as old as time – smiling into breathless kisses, growling into them. Praying they would never end.

Takato  _prayed,_ yes, but the voice in the back of his mind had already begun counting down the ticks to  _the last time_ , even though they had just begun this tryst.

A gentle kiss to the top of his head brought him back to the present.

“What are you thinking about,” the voice inquired, warm, breathless, soft, “…Takato-san?”

“N-nothing,” he was quick to reply, and Takato once again reprimanded himself inside his head for sounding so dismissive. Why did he always have to talk like that, act like that, with a man who gave him so much pleasure and happiness?

“Chunta…” he tried again, raising his head from the man’s chest to look into his eyes. “Why do you always… do that?”

Junta’s eyebrows furrowed in worry and confusion, and realizing how accusatory his tone sounded, Takato added, “When we come back from shooting, you always…”

“I always…?”

“Jump me. Like that. Like you can’t keep your hands off me.”

Junta’s worried expression morphed itself into a smirk and Takato found himself blushing. “You… don’t like it?”

“No, no, I didn’t –”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, I… Not stop. I just…” Takato trailed off, and Junta, being Junta, sat up on his elbows, and caressed his cheek.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked him, eyes full of that damned molten gold that always turned Takato into putty in his hands. Takato cursed internally.

“I’m too old for you, Chunta,” he managed, eyes looking away, towards the window, even as strong arms remained wrapped around his slim frame, gold eyes beckoning him to pay attention.

“What has that got to do with anything?”

“You should be –” he sighed, “You should be out with people in your circle. I’m old news, you’re –”

Lips trailed up his neck, making him shiver.

“You’re wasting your time with me,” he said.

“Am I, now?”

It both amazed and annoyed Takato how utterly calm and rational his voice always managed to be. Here he was, having an existential crisis, and Junta wouldn’t even acknowledge the pity party he was throwing for himself.

“Hey, are you even listening?”

The man’s nod reverberated in the hollow of Takato’s collarbone, and he felt his lips curving upwards into a smile against his skin. “We’ve had this discussion before, Takato-san…”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Well, that’s because I made you forget,” he said, and Takato received no warning before he was being flipped over onto his back, strong muscular legs parting his, settling between his thighs.

“Well… maybe you shouldn’t. Make me forget,” Takato replied, looking up into Junta’s eyes, “You’re young, Chunta. You think you love me, but you don’t know  _how_  you feel, and I don’t want you to regret –”

At this, Junta groaned, and leapt forward to catch Takato’s already kiss-bitten lips between his teeth. “Please don’t tell me how I should feel, Takato-san…” he said, the vibrations of his voice making Takato shudder beneath him. “This, what I feel for you,” he moved Takato’s hand from his sides to cup at his cheek, “is real. Please don’t nullify my feelings for you on the basis of age. Please don’t say I don’t know how I feel,” his teeth let go of his lips, and kissed the sides of the man’s mouth once before continuing, “Because you’re the one person for whom I know what I feel is real.”

“Please tell me you feel it too,” he pleaded.

And his eyes, God, those eyes of his that were sincere enough to convince him the Earth was flat, how could he resist them when they were coaxing him so, persuading him to believe in his feelings for him?

And so, when Takato lunged forward, and they began their exploring once again, he could swear with every kiss pressed to his temples, and every gentle thrust inside that touched him  _just right_ , the weight of the baggy skin and time and age began fading, taking his insecurities with it, and leaving him with only the molten gold warmth above him.


	2. I Want You In Every Way That You'll Have Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Takato wants some good lovin' but Junta is too tired (yes, really) and they end up having a conversation about their relationship (again).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken responsibility of this fandom, you cannot stop me aaa

“Chunta?”

The man in question groans above him.

“Hm… what is it?” he replies.

“Chun-ta,” Takato repeats playfully, this time with the syllables split, as if trying out the feeling of his lover’s name – well, his nickname – on his tongue for the first time. His fingers follow suit, tugging up Junta’s shirt, and ghosting touches on the exposed skin there. Circling around the belly button. Carding through the thicket of hair above the waistband of his trousers.

He’s in a teasing mood today.

“Chun-ta,” he curls a lock of hair around his finger, “Azu-ma-ya,” and pulls it sharply enough to make the man jump, “Kun.” He accentuates every single syllable, his voice dripping with intent as he repeats the motion of his fingers a few times until the poor man is squirming and laughing beside him, the vibrations of his deep voice reverberating in Takato’s chest as well.

“To-ta-ka,” he imitates his lover’s tone, though his voice sounds incredibly tired, “Chan,” a hand of his comes to rest on Takato’s cheek, pulling it towards himself, “I’m really quite exhausted today,” he says.

“Well, that has never stopped you before,” Takato counters. There is a sinful gleam in his eyes that Junta has only ever seen once or twice before. The man’s mind is onto something, and even though Junta may be the more sexually adventurous of the two, when Takato wants something – really  _wants_  something – Junta is as helpless to his advances as the other man is to his.

God, he’s so fucking doomed.

Doomfully, blissfully in love. And Junta cannot remember if he has ever been happier in his entire life.

But alas, his body’s protests cannot be ignored, even though the gears of his mind are already turning with lustful intent seeing the heady expression on his lover’s face. Shooting was an absolute pain today, the cast and crew annoyingly uncooperative, and Junta was about seconds from snapping when he had come home after nearly thirty-six hours of work.

But Takato was there to greet him tonight, enveloping him in the warmth of his hug and one of those meek little “I-missed-you”s of his, whispered silently against the man’s collarbone, the ones which disappear as soon as they are said, the ones which are quiet enough that you’d miss them if you weren’t paying attention. But then again, when is Junta not paying attention to Takato?

Well.

 _Now_  would be a good example of when.

Takato’s face belies all the ideas brewing beneath the surface, but the pout that the man dons at Junta’s dismissiveness is positively heartbreaking.

“Love, I really am tired, I don’t think I could even…”

“What, get it up?”

Junta laughs. “Yes, exactly, since you’ve put it so bluntly. I’d probably fall asleep in the middle of it.”

“Well you know, Chunta…” the gleam in his eyes returns somewhat, “There are other ways for us to be lovers.”

“If you’re talking handjobs and blowjobs, darling, I really don’t think I can perform  _to your standards_  tonight,” he says teasingly, “You’d be very disappointed.”

“No… I wasn’t talking about that…”

Junta expects the man to follow up with something. But after a minute of silence and no continuation from Takato, he sighs, and moves up the pillow somewhat to rest his head against the headboard.

“What is it, Takato-san?”

“Nothing, I just – Nothing.”

He turns his head from its resting place in the crook of Junta’s neck, and moves to lie on his pillow, staring at the ceiling.

“Why don’t we ever –” he tries to start, “Why do you always –” he bunches up his features in annoyance, and makes a face like he can’t phrase what he wants to say properly.

“Why is it always you who…”

 _Ah, so that’s what this is about._  Junta has a feeling where this conversation might be headed, so he ends Takato’s statement himself to save his little love the trouble or the embarrassment.

“ _Tops?”_  he asks. Takato’s face immediately blooms into a blush.

“Y-yeah,” he replies, and turns his eyes to Junta’s face.

“Do  _you_  want to?” Junta asks.

“Maybe… I don’t know…” Takato looks a bit confused, and the little bit of distance between their clothed bodies is making Junta uncomfortable so he pulls the man closer to his chest. “Have you ever…” Takato starts.

“Bottomed? No, I haven’t,” Junta replies, honestly, nonchalantly, like it’s a conversation about the fucking weather or something. Takato blushes harder. Junta opts to ignore it for once, but can’t help the sly smile that crosses his face when he sees it. “I’ve had sex before, yes, but that was just once or twice with a girlfriend in high school. Nothing serious. I’ve never been with a man, and I haven’t been with anyone since I met you.”

Takato’s eyes shoot up. “Really?”

“Really. No one else… caught my eye. I mean,” he smiles, “How could they when I’ve got…  _this_ ,” he gestures a hand towards Takato’s splayed form, earning him a scoff and a hit on the arm from the man beside him.

“What about you?” Junta asks.

“I’ve had a few relationships with women, but they were mostly to keep up appearances.. But same as you, nothing too serious. Short-lived, too. And I’ve never been… with a man, either.”

Junta nods in understanding , “You don’t have to be shy about what you want with me, Takato-san,” he says, his expression serious now. “ _I want you in every way that you will have me.”_

Takato blushes some more, but Junta continues, “And if what you want is to top me, we can try that out too. I’ll try anything you’re up for, darling,” he finishes, kissing the top of Takato’s head.

“But not right now?” Takato pouts.

“Sorry,” he replies, placing a soft peck on Takato’s lips. “But maybe, tomorrow?”

“Really?” Takato raises an eye at him.

“Mmhmm,” Junta nods. “But let me sleep for now, love, alright? That’ll just give me more energy for later,” he winks.

Takato scoffs, a “Yeah, whatever,” already on his lips but Junta does not miss the smirk that crosses his face, right before he drifts off to sleep again, with his fingers still playfully splayed on the man’s stomach.


	3. Feeling Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Junta bottoms for the first time, and it's not all that fun, but they get the hang of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woodheart-feelingsnebula on tumblr requested: "Can you do a continuation to love you in ever way (or something like that I totally forget the name my bad) I would like to see how they react after the moment. (I'm not asking for smut just the after. But I'll read anything you give me)"  
> I hope you like it! 
> 
> Also, exams were tough, and I couldn't really write a lot. But I hope to get back to all the prompts soon. Thank you! And you're always welcome to send more :)

“Was that good?” he asked as soon as Takato rolled off of him. The man was still panting, still gasping for breath, still wet, still –

_Hard._

“You didn’t come?” Junta asked in a haze. He was so tired; they had never had sex for this long before, and it had never taken him _this_ long to get off either. Sure, it was their first time trying it this way, but he hadn’t imagined that it would be this difficult to just goddamn, _relax._ His muscles wouldn’t listen to him for maybe, the first twenty minutes of having Takato’s finger probing inside him, just the one, slowly, _slowly_ , until he could fit it to the second knuckle. It did not feel bad, certainly not _bad_. Just a bit uncomfortable. No, that was not the right word either. It felt…

Like his _entire_ body was clenched tight – not just his entrance. Whole body wound tightly against Takato’s finger, waiting, waiting, _waiting_ for it to start feeling _good_ , for it to start feeling like a pure rush of bliss, a moment of ‘wow, I feel _so good’_ – and all the other things Takato had told him it felt like.

But the moment did not come, and his body remained clenched in anticipation. Even when he was loose enough to fit Takato’s length inside him – it was a tight fit. Uncomfortable. Junta did not understand why it was being so hard to simply _will_ his body into pleasure, push himself into it, _feel_ Takato throbbing inside of him. It wasn’t that Takato was being inattentive; he was being such a careful, thoughtful lover. Opening him slowly, touching him slowly, kissing him slowly, pushing in slowly, hitting that spot in him that made him go ‘I need to come, I need to come, I need to come’ but – _slowly_. Takato was maneuvering Junta’s body, traversing it like a map he had already read so many times, touching him where he told him it felt good, manipulating his body’s nerves like Junta manipulated his. Then –

Why wasn’t it goddamn working?

Ten minutes of thrusting, and Takato had reached for Junta’s cock instead, twisting his hand around him just the way he knew would make him come undone – and it had worked. Yet even, as the waves of orgasm rippled through him, his body still felt tense. It wasn’t so satisfactory as all the other times, the times when Junta would be inside Takato instead. But he had expected this; he wasn’t so naïve as to think that his first-time bottoming was going to go like a rollercoaster of pleasure. It was going to take his body time to adjust, time to stop feeling the foreignness, and instead the _fullness_ of having Takato inside him. But –

The fact that Takato had not come from the experience at all meant something else. They were doing something wrong.

“I can –” Junta started, moving a hand down to envelop Takato’s cock, but Takato shook his head.

“No, no, no, I’m alright. It’s okay,” he said, “I am,” he panted, “exhausted.”

“Yeah, me too,” Junta said, “Just let me…”

“No, Chun…ta,” more pants, “I just… really want to go to sleep now…”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to…?”

“Just go to sleep, okay?” Takato said, turning to his side and folding his body around Junta’s, “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Junta pressed a soft kiss to the top of Takato’s sweaty brow; the man’s eyes were already fluttering shut. He did not miss how Takato’s length was already softening against his side. Junta huffed out a breath, exhausted, annoyed, but he settled on, “Yeah, alright. Let’s go to sleep,” for the time being, when he felt Takato already snoring lightly against his chest.

Something was wrong. What was it? The question would bug him till morning…

* * *

 

Junta woke up before him, of course, and when Takato woke up, he could feel Junta’s gaze on him even before he cracked open an eyelid to peek at his insatiable lover, golden eyes roving over his body with a kind of deep-running hunger, that would never fail to send shivers down his spine and make the hair on his neck rise in anticipation. Today was no different.

“I know you’re up.”

 _Shit, how did he always figure that out!?_ Junta had once told him it was because his breathing changed when he woke up, but Takato had a hunch it was just because he had become too familiar with his body. In a way that Takato hadn’t become with Junta’s yet. Speaking of that…

“Do you wanna…” Junta started, “talk about last night?”

“Yeah…” Takato trailed off, raising a hand to rub the sleep and rheum from his eyes. He gathered the sheets closer to his own body – Junta must have changed them in the night, they were all dry and comfortable again – and sat up with a yawn.

“How was it, then?” Junta asked again, keeping his tone light – conversational, not interrogatory. He knew that Takato always felt uncomfortable talking about sex and his own desires with him. He did not want to make it any more uncomfortable for him. He pulled Takato closer to his own body so that they were almost sitting-snuggling, and Takato’s face was buried in the hollow of Junta’s neck.

“Yeah, about that…” Takato hesitated.

“Ahan. Go on,” Junta encouraged. Honestly, Takato acted like such a blushing virgin sometimes. Junta couldn’t help but smile.

“Chunta…” the man started, thrumming his fingers lightly against Junta’s chest. The man cleared his throat. “I like it better when you…”

“When I…?”

“When you…” he gulped, “take control.”

Junta paused for a second. “Does that mean… you don’t want me to bottom anymore?”

“No, no, I wanna try it again. It’s just…”

“You want me to be in control of what happens?”

“Yeah.”

“Could you tell me how?”

“I want you to…” he began. Paused. Looked up at Junta. Blushed a most furious color of red. Then sighed.

“Fuck…yourself,” he stated.

“Excuse me?” Junta interrupted, tone quizzical and humorous at the same time. Takato internally cursed himself for his terrible phrasing.

“Tch, not like that, idiot,” he sighed, exasperated.

Junta laughed, pulling Takato closer to himself. “Then why don’t you tell me what you mean, boyfriend of idiot?”

“Yeah, um,” he cleared his throat, “I want you to fuck yourself. _On me,”_ he emphasized.

“Oh. _Oh_."

“You get it?”

“Yeah, I think I do.”

“Good.”

His breaths were coming in faster now, and _things_ had begun stirring underneath the sheets. Junta laid a hand on his chest, smirked another one of those smirks that made Takato want to hyperventilate, and continued, “Go on.”

“I like it when you… talk to me. When you… tell me what you’re going to do.”

“Ahan…” Junta nodded deviously, hands already working at pushing away the sheets, baring the curve of Takato’s hips, letting Junta run his hands on the swell of his ass.

“I like it when you push me back,” Junta pressed harder on Takato’s chest, making him lie back on the mattress, “And tell me what I look like.”

“Do you want to know what you look like right now, Totaka-chan?” Junta removed the sheets fully, eyes taking a fill of Takato’s slowly hardening length, hands feeling the twitch as they brush across it to roam over his thighs.

“Y-yes,” he spoke, voice breathy and edging towards desperation.

“You look…” Junta sighed, “ _eager_.”

Takato tried biting his lips, _oh how he tried_ , but the little kitten-whimper that escaped his lips was like music to Junta’s ears.

This felt right. This is how their dynamic worked. It was already starting to feel so much better than last night. His body felt more relaxed, inside and out, the ridges of tension in his shoulders, in his back, already loosening from watching Takato splayed out like this, the morning sunlight filtering in from the blinds and cutting crisscross patterns across his face and chest.

“You look…” he started again, legs parting, climbing over Takato’s thighs, straddling them, “beautiful,” a moan slipped past Takato’s lips, “face all hot from how much you want me –”

“I want you.”

“– how much you need to feel how wet and warm it is inside me –”

“I need –”

Junta slipped his fingers past Takato’s lips, two of them at once, and Takato gasped and then moaned, eyes closing shut, lips sucking, tongue rolling, saliva dripping down past his lips and down his chin.

“Yeah, wet them for me, love,” Junta sighed, and Takato moaned around the long, slender fingers in his mouth. When he was satisfied that his fingers were sufficiently coated with saliva, he reached his hand back to his ass, finding his hole and slipping in one finger with ease. The other of his hands planted itself on Takato’s chin, keeping his face fixed in one place, golden eyes locking with ocean blue.

“Look, Takato. Come on, love, look,” Junta said, thrusting his body against his own fingers, and between his legs, Takato could see Junta’s wet, bobbing cock, rubbing against his own. “My fingers feel _so_ good, darling. Soon it’ll be your cock I’ll be moving over like this.”

“Chunta –”

Junta removed his hand from Takato’s chin, yet Takato knew better than to move his gaze elsewhere. Junta’s hand moved over his nipples, circled his belly button, tickled the hair at his groin, before finally enveloping around Takato’s length – hard as rock, and dripping pre-cum already.

“You’ve got such a pretty cock, Takato,” Junta panted, and felt as the member gave a twitch in response to his words. “You’ve got a praise kink, huh, Takato-san?”

“Fuck, Chunta, please –”

“Please what?”

“ _Please_ fuck yourself on my cock. Please, please, please –”

“Tch. So eager, love,” he laughed, pulling his fingers out and seating himself properly on Takato’s length, “It’s alright, I’m getting impatient, too.”

“Do we need –”

“No,” he bent forward, pressing a deep, wet kiss on Takato’s lips, “I’m all ready for you already, baby.”

“Did you have to make that rhyme –” Takato started, but his words got cut short as he felt the wet hand guiding his cock inside Junta’s entrance, “oh. _Oh God_.”

Junta smiled as Takato’s complaints died on his lips, moaned as his length pierced through him and by _God_ , did it feel _good_. Full and hard, wet and heavy. Perfect. Fuck, it felt good. This is how they fucked. This is how it could feel good. This is how good it could feel.

“You like it when I dominate you, huh, Takato-san?” Junta said, though his voice was breaking with pants and moans of pleasure, “You like it when I _use_ you like this?”

“God, _Chunta_ , how many times will you make me say it?”

“Until it keeps feeling good. Until you keep moaning from the feeling of how I can own you. How _you_ can own _me_. Until you keep crying from how well we can _fit_ together. How – oh god,” Junta’s voice broke, “Takato – say it. Say it, won’t you, love?”

“I love it. I love all of it,” he groaned.

“Say you’re mine, baby,” Junta cried, moving a hand to his straining erection, stroking it long and hard and impatient.

“I’m yours. _I’m-yours-I’m-yours-I’m-yours_. I’m – _Chunta, I’m gonna_ –”

“Come. Come on. Come on my voice.”

“Ah – Chun –”

They both groaned together – Takato at the hot, wet feeling of Junta’s hole fluttering around him, milking his orgasm from him, taking every last ounce of energy the man had to give. And Junta – from the feeling of Takato’s length, throbbing and twitching and _emptying_ inside of him. It didn’t take long for him to come after that, a few more harsh strokes and he was seeing lights behind his eyes, body going tense and then relaxing altogether, spraying Takato’s chest in thick spurts of wet silver.

It took them longer than usual to catch their breath after that but as soon as Junta could speak, there was but one question on his mind.

“Was that good?” Junta asked, as soon as he rolled off of Takato, voice panting and breathless, but spirit eager to please, eager to love. And out of all the reactions he could have expected from Takato-san, laughing was not one of them.

“Yeah, fuck,” he chuckled. “It was good, dammit,” he said, pulling Junta’s face towards his and licking a path up his chin, across his jaw, on his bottom lip, before crushing him with a bruising, panting kiss, feeling Junta’s body hot against him, his heartbeat fast and quickening again from the pleasure of Takato’s lips against his.

“It was..." Takato smiled, " _so good_ ,” he said once they parted, and Junta smiled, smirked even, and leapt forward to claim Takato's lips once again.  


	4. Typecast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Takato gets typecast and gets pissed at it.

Sasaki-san had called him up at 5:30 in the morning, to tell him of an offer. Takato, still disoriented from sleep, had agreed to _something_ (God knows what), hung up on him mid-sentence, rolled over and kneed Junta in the stomach. Junta still hadn’t gotten used to that, those sucker punches of his. They weren’t exactly light, cute hits either. Takato was a strong man afterall, and his sleepy kicks really packed all his weight behind them. Junta could only groan and clutch his stomach, turning his back to the man, while the other muttered a sleepy “ _gomen_ ” in apology.

Sasaki-san had called again, fifteen minutes after that. Takato, the sleeping beauty, had ignored his annoying ringtone completely, prompting Junta to be the one to reach over and pick the phone up.

“What?” he half-shouted into the phone.

“Junta-san…” Sasaki’s nervous voice spoke through the receiver, “Is Takato-san leaving yet?”

“Huh? Leaving?”

“Yes, for the interview.”

“What interview?” Junta asked, removing the phone from his ear to check the time.

5:47 am.

_For fuck’s sake…_

“The American director. He asked to schedule an interview with Takato-san at seven this morning.”

Takato groaned beside him, and Junta’s hand instinctively went to his stomach lest he be hit with another kick. “What is it…” Takato mumbled.

Junta put a hand over the phone. “You’ve got an interview…”

“What interview?” he mumbled annoyedly.

“Some American director?”

At this, Takato’s eyes shot open, and he sat up almost instantaneously, his knee flying into Junta’s stomach once again.

“Ugh, fuck –” Junta muttered in pain.

“Ah, shit, sorry, Junta,” Takato gave him an apologetic look, as Junta winced. He took the phone from his hands, and put it to his ear.

“When is it?” Junta heard him say on the phone. “Seven?! Today? Come on, Sasaki-san… why couldn’t you have told me this yesterday?... Ah, I see… No way he can reschedule it then? …Fucking hell… I’ll be there as soon as I can, then… Ahan... No, I won’t go back to sleep… See you there, Sasaki-san. Thanks.”

And as soon as the call ended, Takato was flinging the covers off of himself, and climbing out of bed, the cold early morning air leaching away the warmth of the bed, and making Junta groan, and pull the covers back up to shield himself.

“Junta,” he talked quickly, “That director just landed. He’s asked for an interview at 7.”

“Mhmm…” Junta responded sleepily, “You leaving then?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back by 10 probably.”

“Do you… need me to drop you off…?”

He heard Takato laugh back in reply, and soft footsteps approach his side of the bed. “Nah. You keep sleeping. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” Junta mumbled, feeling the soft press of Takato’s lips on his forehead before drifting back to sleep.

* * *

 

The sound of the door clicking shut was what woke him a few hours later, at 10:37 am.

“ _Tadaima_.” Takato’s exhausted voice echoed into the apartment.

“O _…kaeri…nasai…”_ Junta yawned back, voice muffled beneath the covers and heavily laden with sleep.

He heard the tap of Takato’s shoes as he approached him, and his cold sighs as he sat down on the bed with a heavy thud. The sound of his shoes being untied, and thrown messily across the room. The sound of him reaching over to pull out the drawer of the bedside table. The click of a lighter. The inhale of smoke.

“Takato-san…?” Junta questioned, scooting over closer to him, and running a lazy hand up and down his back. He had taken off his black coat, but was still wearing his white dress shirt, its sleeves rolled up to the elbows, the few buttons at the top undone. His shoulders seemed to relax a little under Junta’s lazy caresses, but he took another whiff of smoke nevertheless. Takato didn’t used to smoke often. In fact, Junta had only seen him do it twice. And one of those times was for that photoshoot. So technically, he had only seen him do it out of his own volition once. And that, too, was way back when they weren’t together yet, and Takato was overworking himself on multiple projects at once. Junta was aware Takato kept a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in the bedside drawer in his apartment, but to the best of his knowledge, it was not an addiction of his, even if it may have been sometime in the past. They had never actually talked about that… Hm, he should bring the subject up later…

But whatever, that was not the point. Junta was getting distracted. The symptom was that Takato was smoking. Hence...

 _Something,_  God knows what,must have gotten screwed up. 

“…How did it go?” Junta asked cautiously.

Takato only huffed out another breath, and inhaled more smoke.

“Do you wanna talk about it…?”

“Hm.” Takato gave a curt nod, continuing to blow smoke in the opposite direction, trying to ignore Junta's probing into the matter, even though he and Junta both knew that that act would ultimately fail. It always did. Takato couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

 

This continued for the next ten minutes. Now and then, Takato would huff annoyedly, and mutter something unintelligible under his breath, all the while, Junta kept moving a soothing hand up and down his back.

 

At 10:50 am, Takato pulled out the cigarette butt from his mouth, and cursed under his breath. “Fuck,” he said, “This shit has gotten old.” He put out the cigarette in a glass on the bedside table and took a deep breath. A tell-tale sign of a rant about to begin.

 

“ _That fucking asshole_ ,” he started, turning around to face Junta. Junta, the fantastic boyfriend that he was, took that as his cue to sit up and start listening intently now. Takato hated being ignored on his rants. He had a scarily acute sense of knowing when someone was not paying him their fullest attention. Junta had been on the wrong side of his tantrum more than once because of that. God, why did he have to fall in love with such a drama queen...

“Sasaki, or the director?” Junta questioned.

“The director!” Takato half-shouted. “Fucking twat. Invites me to his office at 7 in the goddamn morning, shows up half an hour late, and then talks up the secretary for fifteen minutes before he actually starts the interview. And even then –!”

Takato sneaked a look at Junta, making sure he was paying attention - Junta nodded vehemently to ease his doubts - and continued, “And even then! He kept talking about his own projects the whole goddamn time.”

“Dick,” Junta agreed.

“A _total_ dick!” Takato reaffirmed, huffing annoyedly, a sight that reminded Junta of an angry buffalo and made it hard for him to keep his smile repressed. “And then -!” Takato emphasized.

“And then…?”

“When we actually get to talking about the movie, turns out the part he’s offering me is the most boring, uninspired character I have ever seen in my life!”

“God, that’s awful…”

“I know right!? I literally _just_ finished the stage play, to show that I can perform a wide _range_ of roles that _aren’t_ the “annoying-sassy-cunt-who-sasses-everyone” role, and this fucking cunt –”

“Total cunt.”

“- offered me the exact role that I’m trying to get out of. I mean, the film seems interesting, and the script was well-written, and there are so many Asian characters in the film that I would rather play – in fact, I think I could play them even _better_ than anyone else – and yet, he offers me the most generic, uninteresting, cocky role in the whole film. Thanks, but I think I would rather _die_ than play that shit _ever again!_ ”

Junta rolled his eyes. _Drama Queen._ “So, you rejected the offer, then?”

“Hm!” Takato nodded angrily, hand reaching for the drawer to pull out another cigarette. But before he could do that, Junta was already taking Takato's hand in his instead, pulling suddenly, so that Takato was back against the covers, his head almost lying in Junta’s lap.

“You were really excited about this project, weren’t you?” Junta questioned softly.

“Hm…” Takato nodded, less angrily this time. “The director is pretty well-renowned, and the film would have been pretty big so…” he trailed off. “I just thought… this could be my chance to go like, international or something…” he said, looking away from Junta’s gaze.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Junta said, pulling Takato up by the shoulders so his head now lay properly in his lap, his legs still hanging off the side of the bed.

“Yeah, whatever, the director was annoying. I wouldn’t have liked to work with him anyway.”

“Probably for the best then, no?” Junta asked, hands carding softly through Takato’s locks.

“I suppose.”

“It’ll hardly be the last international offer you get anyway.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And it’s a good thing you rejected this typecast offer. If you had gotten typecast as a sassy Asian dude in your first international debut, then you would always be typecast as a sassy Asian dude. White directors, you know...”

“Mmhmm. Exactly,” Takato nodded fervently, “Like Hiroyuki Sanada. He always gets the martial arts type roles.”

“Yup. So, it was a blessing in disguise, darling.”

“You’re right…” Takato agreed, “You’re totally right. I need to wait for a more serious role.”

“Ahan.”

“To show how diverse I can be.”

“Exactly.”

“Veteran actor Takato Saijo.”

Junta chuckled. “Absolutely,” he nodded in agreement.

“The Most Huggable Man for five years in a row.”

“Six years, Takato-san! Who’s that weird blond kid even? No one remembers him. He’s already old news!" Junta emphasized, "Personally, he really gives me the creeps… I don’t know how women voted for him…”

At that, Takato finally laughed, a true, unrestrained cackle that Junta rarely ever heard from Takato, and prided himself on the fact that he was the only one who could get such a response out of the man, as rare as it was. Takato’s hand flew up to Junta’s face, without him noticing, pulling the man down for a soft laughing peck on the lips.

When they separated, both out of breath from Junta’s stupid joke, Junta’s stomach took it as a cue to express its grievances over not being fed yet.

“Have you had breakfast already, Takato-san?” Junta asked.

“Nah, I left in kind of a hurry, and there was no time to get anything on the way…”

“What do you want to eat, then?”

“Hm…” the man considered it for a moment. “Just Tamagoyaki sounds nice…”

“You sure? Nothing fancy?”

“No, your Tamagoyaki is really, _really_ good,” Takato smiled up at him.

“Alright, then, that’s what we’ll make,” Junta said, trying to move Takato’s head from his lap, but Takato caught his arm instead.

“Let’s just stay for a little while longer…”

“You’re not hungry?”

“No, no, I am!” Takato countered, “It’s just… it feels nice when you… run your fingers through my hair,” he said, adding the last part with a voice almost inaudible to Junta, and a blush to match it.

Junta said nothing. Just smiled to himself, as he brought his fingers back to Takato’s hair, continuing to card through the dark locks, as Takato’s eyes closed shut, made sleepy again by the soft movement of Junta’s fingers through his hair and the light chirping of birds outside their window, announcing that they still had time before they needed to wake up…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @gumikon on Tumblr requested “ Takato had a bad day and Chunta and him cuddle on the sofa :3″ I hope you like it!


	5. Lazy Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Junta gives Takato a haircut and it turns more personal than either of them intended...

The balcony is Takato’s favorite place in the new apartment Junta and him have bought together. It’s a concrete ledge with square rough edges and a rusty rail, but it’s his oasis. In the spring and summer seasons, it’s a riot of color as all the flowers that Takato has so carefully gardened: burnt-orange butterfly weed, the prairie black-eyed Susans, blue irises, lilac hyacinths, red poppies and – Junta’s favorite – white bellflowers, come to life on their balcony and fill their apartment with color and beauty. When it rains, the smell of the fresh flowers mixed with that of wet dirt, turns their humble abode into a small meadow that they have grown. Together.

It is on this balcony that they find themselves, limbs entangled, Takato’s back to Junta’s chest as Junta holds him close and runs his fingers softly through his hair. It’s been a harsh winter, but today the fresh breeze carries with it the smell of approaching spring, color has started to return to their quaint balcony, and amidst all this, they sit, legs splayed, letting the sun gently warm their clothed bodies. Beneath them, the city flows in its own tense way, bustling and honking, but ten floors up, they are removed enough to simply be passive observers, not troubled by its strife.

Junta’s fingers in Takato’s hair are just about to lull him to sleep when he says:

“Takato-san. Your hair is getting too long.”

Takato shifts, and looks up into Junta’s face. “Is it?”

“Sure is,” Junta smiles, “When did you last get a haircut?”

“Hmm…” Takato considers pensively, “The hair stylist at the last film gave me one, I think.”

Junta laughs softly, and Takato hums, cat-like – almost purrs – at the vibrations that run through his body at the sound. “So, over a month ago, now?”

“Mmhmm.” Takato replies lazily, turning his face to the side to rub it into Junta’s chest.

Junta’s fingers stop carding through his hair and Takato almost whines at the loss of touch. He knows that Junta has got something on his mind now, can feel the gears turning behind his head.

“Come on,” he says suddenly, sitting up straighter and jolting Takato’s eyes open, “I’ll give you a haircut.”

Takato groans. “Chuntaaa…” he whines, his voice childishly insistent, something that gets both a chuckle out of Junta and makes him shake his head at his lover’s antics.

“Come on, we’ve been sitting here all morning –”

“It’s Sundayyy…”

“Come on, Takato-san, don’t be like that. It’s already – God, what’s the time –” he shuffles around to glance at his wrist watch, “It’s almost 3 pm! We’ve wasted all day on this balcony!”

“So what?” Takato pouts, and crosses his arms on his shoulders. Junta sighs in defeat and wraps his arms around Takato.

“Just one little haircut, and then we’ll go right back to sleep, okay?” he negotiates, tilting Takato’s face up with one hand to meet his eyes.

“No.”

“It’ll only take ten minutes, love,” he kisses the top of his head.

“I don’t wanna,” Takato pouts again, and Junta suppresses a smile at how absolutely _cute_ he looks like that. Junta raises an eyebrow at him, and Takato knows what’s coming when he bends down and presses his lips to Takato’s ear:

“I’ll do _anything_ you want me to later,” he says, wearing his best seductive smile and that voice that always gets Takato so weak and pliant. Takato’s mouth falls open and Junta bellows out a laugh at how unbelievably easy that was.

“You’re fucking disgusting, you know that,” Takato pouts, already moving to get up.

“Hey, come on, don’t be like that –” Junta manages to say in between laughs.

“Get away from me, you horny devil,” Takato fake-yells, even though Junta knows he, too, is struggling to keep the smile from his face, “Using sex to get what you want. How deplorable,” Takato says, but Junta can hear the smile in his voice.

“I know, I’m terrible. Maybe you should punish me later.”

“OH GOD, _COME ON_ ,” Takato protests and gets up from Junta’s lap and moves to walk inside, Junta’s laughs following him.

“Does that mean you’re gonna take me up on the offer or what?” Junta snickers.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Takato calls back to him.

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later, Junta has prepared ‘the haircut seat’ – one of their own dining room chairs, and laid the materials for the haircut: the scissors, the brush, the combs, and the water spray, on the table beside it. He offers Takato to take a seat.

“ _My lord_ ,” he says dramatically, bowing and extending his hand in an over-the-top, royal fashion that makes Takato roll his eyes but accept the hand anyway. Junta makes Takato sit in the chair, and wraps the towel around him, securing it with a knot behind the man’s neck.

“Why do you know how to give haircuts anyway?” Takato asks as Junta begins to wet his hair with the spray, “I assume you worked as an apprentice with a barber for a year or something too?” he jokes.

Junta stops spraying the water, and looks at Takato, mock-sincerity on his face.

“ _Takato-san,_ ” he says, “How did you know?”

Takato’s mouth falls agape.

“I knew it, I _fucking_ knew it,” he begins, “So, you know how to do basically _everything,_ then!? It’s so scary, like, how did you even get the _time!”_ he rambles, “I’m eight years older than you and I have never – _never_ – done half the things you have and frankly, your level of skill scares me, Junta, I mean _honestly, who even_ –”

It’s only when Junta bursts out laughing that Takato stops his rant and turns to look at the man who has continued to spray water into his hair and is now softly combing through the dark locks of hair.

“…You were kidding, weren’t you?” Takato says.

“Yup,” Junta smiles cheerfully.

Takato turns back into his chair. “I fucking hate you.”

“And I love you too, _anata,”_ he says, bending down to press the softest of kisses to Takato’s wet hair. Takato blushes profusely at the name and the kiss, and wonders if Junta can feel the heat blooming in his cheeks as he rubs both his thumbs on Takato’s neck before picking up the scissors.

“My mother used to cut my hair when I was little, you know,” Junta muses as the first locks of Takato’s hair begin falling to the floor and the room is filled with the sound of the scissors as they clip away at dark tresses.

“Oh?” Takato replies, “You’ve never talked about your family much before.”

“Yeah, I guess I haven’t.” More clips. “We never really got along to be honest.”

There’s a pause in the conversation and Takato waits for Junta to continue but he doesn’t. It feels like a somber air has set over the discussion all of a sudden so Takato tries to break the silence.

“So, did you learn it from her?” he asks tentatively.

Clip. Clip. Clip.

“Yeah…” Junta replies, tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth as he concentrates on the hair. “Well, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Yeah, I mean, after a while, we…” Junta trails off, scissors pausing. “Um, we…”

Takato senses Junta’s nervousness; it’s not often that Junta talks so openly about personal stuff so, Takato removes a hand from beneath the towel and raises it to gently touch Junta’s suspended arm. The simple touch seems to bring Junta out of whatever haze he must have fallen in, and he takes a deep breath and resumes his work at Takato’s hair.

“We didn’t use to have much money growing up,” Junta starts again, “And after my parents got divorced, and I started living with my father in Spain, it got… worse. I didn’t use to have much money. Not even for haircuts,” he smiles sadly, “So… I pretty much learnt by cutting my own hair. Trial and error, you know,” he chuckles.

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” Takato says, “Why did you move out of Japan?”

“Oh well,” Junta sighs again, “My mother got a new husband. He had two kids of his own. He said he couldn’t deal with more mouths to feed, and my mother apparently agreed with him so… It was off to Spain with me,” he laughs.

“Well, that’s a shitty thing to do,” Takato says.

“No, not really,” Junta says, as he moves to the other side of Takato’s head, “I understand where she was coming from. She had a new life to worry about then... And her husband was never unkind to me,” he explains, “It was a financial barrier for him to support both me and my mother at the same time, so why should he, when my own father was alive and well?”

“Yes, but your mother –”

“I don’t blame her, Takato, honestly. It was the best that could have been done under the circumstances. And I’m… grateful, that they did whatever they could.”

Takato takes a moment to absorb all this new information. “You’re too damn understanding,” he says finally.

“Maybe so, maybe so,” Junta chuckles lightly, placing soft hands at Takato’s chin to adjust his head a little bit, “But it’s made me the man I am today,” he says.

Junta continues snipping away at Takato’s hair, and Takato shivers at the feeling of the cold metal of the scissors moving against his scalp.

“You still talk to them?” Takato begins again, “Your family?”

Junta exhales. “Um… not really."

“Why not?”

“Well…” he replies, “There were a lot of reasons honestly. My parents always wanted me to do something more… _respectable_ with my life, I suppose? My mother wanted me to go into law, and my father – he’s a carpenter by profession himself – wanted me to delve into the more, let’s say, business side of things. That was the first rift, I think, between my parents and I. When I realized how what I wanted for myself clashed so much with what they wanted for me.”

“What was the second rift?” Takato asks softly.

“Ah, that. Well," he chuckles, "They discovered I was gay.”

“ _Oh_ _God_ …”

“Yup. That was… not fun,” Junta tries to laugh, but it comes out like a sad puff of air instead.

“I’m so sorry,” Takato says, “How did they find out?”

“In the worst way possible.”

“ _No.”_

“Yup.”

 _“Don’t tell me_ –”

“That’s right," he says, "With my cock up someone’s ass,” he chuckles.

“ _Ohhhh goddd_ ….”

“Yeah. I was seventeen. My father tried sending me to therapy. _Therapy_ , can you believe it?” he scoffs, “It was fucking _awful_. I called my mother right after the first session and told her everything. She wasn’t all that supportive too, as you can probably imagine. But whatever. I got on the first plane back to Japan, and rented a shitty apartment, and got a job working as a pizza delivery boy. Got scouted in my fourth month, and now I’m here….” He finishes, giving the final clips to Takato’s hair, and moving to unwind the towel from around Takato’s neck. “Very porn movie plot, I know.”

At this, the two of them can’t help but laugh together, chuckling as Takato gets up from his chair and Junta picks up the brush to wipe away the hair from the nape of his neck, turns Takato around to face him as he does the same to the front of his slender neck and his collarbones. It never fails to surprise Takato how Junta can find humor in the most unexpected of situations. It’s one of the things that he loves the most about him. No matter how shitty one’s day, week, year – life – is going, Junta can always find a silver lining. He’s a warm burst of sunshine, optimism and hope against the cold wall of Takato’s aging cynicism, and Takato is _weak_. Too weak to resist the warmth as it envelops him; too weak not to succumb to the man’s soft touches against his neck. Too weak not to love him when he smiles so much like an angel in the face of all the hurt that he has seen in his life, and in doing so, inspires Takato more than Junta could ever know.

Takato moves the chair away from between them and moves to wrap his arms around Junta’s tall lanky frame. He looks up into those greenish-gold eyes - that blink back at him in surprise - and kisses him, pressing his lips softly to Junta's and breathing out a promise:

“I’ll never leave you, you know that, right?” he whispers.

Junta’s arms pull his body closer to him, tighter to him, as he breathes back a reply:

“I know," he says.


End file.
